


i ain't scared of lightning

by Anonymous



Category: Vampire Hunter D (Anime & Manga), Vampire Hunter D (Books)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29517609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: On the Frontier, anything can happen. One supply run brings Doris back into contact with a familiar Vampire Hunter. (Bookverse, written circa 2010)
Relationships: D/Doris Lang
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4
Collections: Anonymous Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Tom McRae's song, _I ain't scared of lightning_ from the 2000 album _Tom McRae_.
> 
> For a long time I held off on posting this back up publically with the idea that I would fully rewrite it and my second Vampire Hunter D long fic. I've come to accept that's probably not going to happen, so I am just throwing this out to the wild. Go into it thusly warned.

_I have been one acquainted with the night._ –Robert Frost

He'd needed the load in earlier than usual, that was where it really started.

Mr. Jameson had asked for an advance in supplies, what with the threat of storms and the refugees his family was harboring from the burned town over West. So Doris had packed up early and left the farm to Dan, and taken the cyborg horses to the road, jouncing through ruts and winding down the long, near-empty roads. She could make it before dark, but only if she hurried. Things got risky when twilight fell, and though Doris sometimes went hunting to clear the area—just like that hunt that had gotten her a lapful of vampire business and a bruised heart—she didn't take risks when she had full cargo to transport, and to people that needed it.

So she moved quickly.

The sky was stained purple when she dropped down from the wagon and relinquished the controls of the cyborg horses to a beaming, round-cheeked girl who looked relieved to see the tarp-covered and strapped-down shapes in the back of the wagon. "You're staying, right Miss Lang?"

"I think I've gotta." Doris glanced at the deepening hue of the sky, considered the wagon. "If your family doesn't mind, of course."

"Naw," she said cheerfully. "They'll be real happy to see you. Go right in, I'll take care of this."

Doris had known the family for fourteen years; she was comfortable with them, and Annie was a good girl. She nodded, easy, and trotted up the rough, creaking front steps. The door was sturdy, reinforced with steel, and the windows barred, but lacy green tendrils spilled from terracotta pots hanging from the porch, fragile and pretty, buds mostly closed up.

A quick, curious rap on the door brought a patter of running footsteps. A small child swung it open with effort, peering up at her solemnly. His cheeks were round and apple-red, blond hair splayed across his forehead, and his fingers left damp marks on the door.

"Dori'!" He shrieked, and launched himself at her knees. She picked him up, laughing, and easily shifted him onto her hip, where he clung.

"Hey," she said, and tweaked his nose. From down the hall, where savoury scents wafted temptingly out to her, a woman appeared, wearing an apron and a hassled expression. It lightened when she saw Doris, the tight lines in her face relaxing with potent relief. "Annie took the wagon," Doris explained when Mrs. Jameson looked over her shoulder at the empty space in front.

Her shoulders slumped. "Thank the lord," she said, then roared, "boys! Go help unload! And bless your heart, Doris, for coming out on such short notice. We were getting desperate."

"It's no trouble," Doris said, bouncing the boy gently on her hip. "I'm glad I could help. Think I could stay over? Might be a bit risky, taking the wagon home after dark. I don't want anything to get damaged."

"Of course, of course. Mattie, come here. Don't trouble Miss Lang."

"He's no trouble, don't worry." Doris nudged the door shut with her boot, shifting so that her coat fell away from her legs. She'd lifted Mattie onto the hip that didn't have the whip coiled at it, but that hampered her reach to the spear on her thigh. Not that she really thought she was going to be attacked here, in their home--but fresh off the darkening roads, it still raised the hairs on the back of her neck. To distract herself, she kissed Mrs. Jameson's cheek and moved where she indicated, into the big living room with the solid furniture and cold fireplace, heavy rough stone marking it in the wall.

It was a warm room, despite the dark colours and stone. It had a sense of being lived in that Doris relished. The corners of the furniture were scuffed, the rug a little mussed, and brightly coloured, rough-hewn Frontier children's toys were strewn in front of the fireplace. There was a girl sitting with a toddler by the couch, playing with an unpainted wooden horse; she looked up and smiled tiredly when they entered. Doris would lay money that she was a refugee; she'd seen that thin-cheeked hint of desperation in too many faced when the town was first inundated with the survivors. She was clean and her hair was braided, but the rationed out food hadn't quite filled in the gauntness misery and strife had marked her with. And the toddler was too thin, as well.

"This is Miss Lang," Mrs. Jameson introduced them. "She came out with supplies all on her lonesome to stock us up; we'll be eating well from hereon out, dears." She bent to make faces and kissy noises at the toddler, who burbled delightedly at her antics, sticking her fist in her mouth.

A smile lit up the thin face. "Thank you, Miss Lang," the girl said politely. "It's mighty kind of you."

"It's nowhere near as risky as Mrs. Jameson would have it sound," Doris protested, smiling. "And it's my pleasure to help out. How about we set up a fire?"

"I'd better take Mattie, then, and go supervise the unloading." Mrs. Jameson straightened and accepted the weight of the child. "He doesn't have a lick of good sense when it comes to fire. Mr. Jameson is out back, but he'll be in to welcome you, I'm sure."

Doris knelt by the fireplace, reaching for kindling. "It's no trouble," she repeated. "No big deal. Dan's behind to take care of the farm and everything."

"You don't have Nobility here no more," the girl said when Mrs. Jameson had exited, a faint lilt of questioning in her voice.

The question startled her. Her hands faltered, briefly, a frisson of memory flickering down her spine. "No," she agreed finally. "A vampire hunter got rid of 'im, couple years back."

The girl looked down at her child, her brows pulling together, and then lifted it, cradling it in her arms. She unbuttoned her dress, baring one full breast and brown nipple, and the child began to suckle greedily, fists clenching and relaxing against her dress. "I like the sound of that," she said wistfully. "Is it a nice place?"

"It's passable. 'Specially since a new Mayor came up." Doris coaxed the flame into being, watching it begin to eat through the fuel. "The Sheriff's a good guy, and we're pretty well off as a community. Lots of nice people here."

"I was a seamstress," she said sadly. "But the shop..." Her face was small, suddenly carven with grief, and she folded in on herself slightly. "The shop burned," she said in a small voice. Her hands, moving gently over the baby, trembled. Doris felt her heart wrench.

"I'm sure there'll be jobs here in town," she said gently, closing up the fireplace. "The Jamesons will help. Hell, maybe we could use a hand or two on the farm."

The girl looked up at her, smile a little ragged. "You're very kind," she said, and Doris shrugged.

"We take care of our own, I guess," she said. "And if you wanna stay, you're one of our own."

"Doris," Mr. Jameson said warmly, appearing in the doorway. "Thank you so much for coming. Should I pay you now, or when you leave?"

"When I leave is fine." She rose to her feet. "You didn't have any trouble out there, did you?"

"Nah. We had a scare earlier this week, but it worked out okay, and everybody workin' together gets the supplies out of too tempting range pretty quick." He gave her a rough, quick embrace. "Your pretty face is a real relief," he said kindly. "We were gettin' a bit desperate."

"Dan sends his regards," she said, giving the refugee girl a quick glance--she smiled and lifted her hand--and following him down the hall. "He had to stay to keep an eye on the farm, but you know he'd be down here helping if he could."

"Of course I do," he said gruffly. The long hallway ended and opened out into a storage room, concrete chilly and secure and electronics flickering softly in the corners of the room. At the end a door stood open, and two tall husky boys came through, carrying a crate between them, muscles bulging under their shirts. They set it down, nudging it into place against a stack, and one waved Mr. Jameson over.

"That's the last of 'em!" He said. "Annie's puttin' the wagon away. Hey there, Miss Lang."

"Doris, you know my son. This is Freddie, a new hire." He nodded to the other boy, who wiped his hands on his shirt and nodded politely to her.

"Pleased to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you," she echoed. One of the refugees, most likely, by the faint gauntness of his face and shadows in his eyes. The way he looked her over was lightning-fast and relatively discrete, not lingering on any rude places with particularly noticeable attention, but the warmth blooming in his eyes when he met hers startled her, and she felt the faintest of flushes staining her cheeks when she looked back. She looked beyond him to the open door. "I'll say hi to Annie," she said, and slipped past.

Mr. Jameson stayed with his son, conversing in low, comfortable voices. But when she glanced back, she saw Freddie looking after her, eyes intent, and he smiled when he saw her watching, half-lifting a hand.

Doris turned and slipped through the door.

Here was where most of their guests must be at the moment. The yard was seething with motion and life, fenced in with formidable barbed-wire and wood, and the wagon and cyborg horses were nowhere in sight, already stabled. Annie was having a lively shouting match with one of her brothers across a spill of muddy hay, and Mrs. Jameson was overseeing the chaos and occasionally shouting commands, bouncing Mattie on her hip, her voice booming with intimidating force for such a small, roundly merry woman.

Doris hooked her thumbs in her belt and stepped up to Mrs. Jameson. She broke off yelling to turn and smile at her. "Doris," she said fondly. "I knew you'd find your way out here. Where's that husband of mine?"

"Talking to one of your boys in storage." Doris nodded over her shoulder. "You hiring on?"

Mrs. Jameson smiled knowingly. "Met Freddie?"

Doris eyed the gleam in the older woman's eye. "Yes," she said, brief and wary.

"He's a charming boy, isn't he? With our Mick and Geven marrying out, we could use another hand. Especially since he's the only one besides you that mediates," she added, eyeing Annie and Ien, both of them waving their arms now. Mrs. Jameson tended to simply whack some sense into them; Mr. Jameson was soft on all his darling brood. Annie pointed, a sharp jab of her finger to illustrate her point, and he rolled his eyes, theatrical, and flung up his hands, turning away. Fast as lightning, Annie bent and scooped up a handful of mud, flinging it with deadly accuracy before their mother could naysay it.

He gave a yell of shock, turned, and lunged for her. They both went head-over-heels, thankfully into the dirt rather than the patch of mud. They rolled into someone else's legs and in seconds it was looking likely to develop into a brawl of epic proportions.

"Heaven help them," Mrs. Jameson muttered, pushing Mattie into Doris's arms. Then she rolled up her sleeves and waded into the fray, her voice rising into a bellow.

Doris tactfully retreated to the storage room, biting her lip to hold in laughter. Mr. Jameson looked over when he saw her and smiled. "Had to break up the situation?" He asked knowingly.

"It got a bit messy," she replied. When he held out his arms, Doris transferred Mattie. The storage room was fuller now, people moving around and labeling; people must have been trailing in from the yard while she was distracted with the fight.

Mr. Jameson made good money on his land, largely by mining work, but you couldn't eat money. He could pay what workers he hired, but oftentimes barter was more valuable on the Frontier. Keeping your belly full--and your body alive, moving and kicking--was often more important than keeping your pockets full of change.

"We better move this through," he said, jerking his chin towards the door leading into the house. "Terra's going to want this in the kitchen."

Two more daughters came over to help break open the packages and parcel out burdens aimed for the kitchen. Doris took a sack of grain, easily balancing the weight, and shouldered her way into the hall as packages unexpectedly changed hands right in front of the door.

Down the long hall, her footsteps near-soundless on the smooth wooden boards, and into the steam and heat of the kitchen--the door a short distance before the door to the living room--where the oldest daughter of the family was checking pots, accepting the influx of food, and directing traffic with quick, efficient movements of her arms. Terra gave her a brief nod, acknowledging her presence from the depths of the barely-controlled chaos, and Doris retreated into the hall and found her way to the front door, tugging open the heavy, reinforced door and stepping outside.

The dry breath of the wind mouthed along her hairline and throat, blowing her hair back from her face. She'd ridden nearly all day to get here, and her muscles ached. From far off, an ululating howl rose from the hills. It wasn't a mortal sound, and the hair on the back of her neck prickled. They'd roused a town-wide hunt to wipe out the fire-dragons after the disaster in Bonnesville, and Doris had ridden with them; it hadn't been pretty. The mere memory of the high, trembling screams of the brood, frightened and desperate for their mother, made her gut clench.

Something rode the air, an uneasy sharpness that made her instincts prickle. She wasn't quite at the point of twitching at shadows and sharp movements, but it was getting closer. She very strongly did not want a village-wide catastrophe to surface, but with no clue as to what felt so wrong in the air, like the soaked-silk bruising promise of violence, she had no way of heading problems off at the pass.

Her access to her spear was unobstructed, though. That was something.

Muffled voices inside drew her attention, and she turned back toward the hall, slipping through the door to find her way into the dining room, separated from the living room only by a brief line of empty space and the difference in the flooring; still hard wood, but older, slightly warped in places. The living room floor had been needed replacing after a disaster with an engineered werewolf--Doris remembered that, recalled with perfect clarity standing in the doorway, breathing hard, her ribs pulsing red-hot flashes of pain through her as blood slid down her arm, cradled against her body. Her whip had been blood-soaked, her spear broken. Dan, white under his freckles, had been standing beside her with his gun in his hands.

In the middle of the wrecked, shattered room, the stink of blood and foul musky fur heavy on the air, Mrs. Jameson had cradled her dead youngest son, guts scooped out from the hollow of his stomach, hanging from the obscene white splinters of his ribs. She'd wept, ragged and harsh, and Doris had passionlessly gone outside, knuckles bloodless on her spear, and cut the throat of the poisoned hired hand when he screamed and begged her to.

It was Frontier life. You moved on, survived, laboriously put the pieces back together. For the first time in years--since those first months after their father's death--Dan had come into her room that night, white and miserable and full of nightmares. She'd tugged him under the covers, curled like frightened children in the mess of blankets, and slept poorly.

The refugee girl was helping set the table, laying out frayed napkins and heavy utensils and clay plates. There were more plates stacked on the counter; there were so many people in the house they'd probably be spilling out into the hall. But dinner at the Jamesons' was never a particularly decorous occasion, and this wouldn't be too much of a change.

Doris gathered glasses, arraying them on the table. Her fingers brushed those of the refugee girl, who smiled up at her through her lashes, baby in a sling on her back. "Miss Lang," she said.

"Doris," she corrected, and then felt like an uncouth fool. "I'm sorry--I don't know your name."

"Mari," she said quietly. She had a little flush to her cheeks now, and the fire was going strong; one of the daughters--Lila--pressed a chunk of meat and bread into her hands as she passed, and Mari tore into it with ragged but determined manners that didn't quite conceal how starving she must be. She was feeding two, after all. "This is Jenna."

The baby was drowsy, mouth moving softly, fingers fisted in her mother's hair. "Please to meet you," Doris said politely.

"Pleasure's mine." They shook hands; Mari's hand was thin, knuckles pressing bone against skin, but her grip was firm. "Thank you. For your kind offer, I mean."

"It's no trouble." Doris leaned a hip against the counter, planting her hand for balance. "Dinner should probably be ready soon. Terra works fast." And tonight wasn't really a night for painstaking dishes. What could be cooked fast and hearty would be cooked, and then go to stuff hungry bellies. Doris could use a meal herself, her stomach rumbling faintly. Mari politely ignored it--Lord knew she must be familiar with hunger.

Mari looked over her shoulder and smiled politely; a glance of familiarity, not necessarily friendliness. "Hello," she said, and Doris turned to see the hired hand standing in the door to the hall. Freddie, his name was. He came inside, moving quietly, and shifted broad shoulder uncertainly under the sweat-damp cotton of his shirt.

"You'd best wash up for dinner," Doris remarked to break the silence. Not--awkward, precisely, but that of three people that didn't know each other all that well.

He dipped his chin. "Yeah." His voice was deep, pleasant. It had been harder to judge in the storeroom, with the ambient noise of the yard and the tech. "Mrs. Jameson wanted me to ask you to come out," he said to Mari, who hastened out around him, leaving the two of them alone in the room.

"I heard you got bit," he said briefly, hesitating over the words.

They were the wrong words to choose. Doris went scarlet, stiffening off of the edge of the counter. Inside the kitchen, Terra's hands paused on her pots, a narrow glance slicing backwards, and Lila's shoulders hunched. "Yeah," she said, defiant. "What's it to you?"

Faintly surprised, maybe awkward, he shrugged as though to say he meant no harm. "He's dead now, isn't 'e?"

"Yes," she said, cold.

"Good doin'."

"I didn't kill him." Her voice was still tart, chilly. "A Vampire Hunter did."

"I heard that bit, too."

Who, Doris wondered with a little roil of anger building in her stomach, was spreading tales? People would still talk all kinds of shit about you if they found out, like you were some kind of goddamn soiled goods are something. Dan was up for kicking all kinds of shit out of anyone who badmouthed his sister, but it still stung. And the gossip would spread like wildfire, when it had just about settled down.

"Annie," Lila said, reading her expression. When Doris stared at her, outraged, she tried to explain. "Don't be mad--he'd never go spreading stuff around, right Freddie?" The look she gave him was narrow, fierce and scalding.

He hastily responded with a negative.

Doris bit down on what she might have said next, frustrated. It wouldn't do to snap at Lila for a blunder by her fourteen-year-old sister. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't," she said evenly, keeping her tone controlled with some effort.

It wasn't--it wasn't that Doris could say all the memories were bad. Tangled with the blackness of terror and the feeling of being trapped like a rat in a maze, running desperately and just as vulnerable to a hand reaching from the sky and taking her up no matter she went was the memory of D's cool mouth, the opaque blackness of his eyes, the promises he'd made. The electricity of brief moments.

But if there was one thing Doris had learned on the Frontier, it was to move on. You gained nothing by clinging to the shadows and the corpses of the past. She didn't let it go, she kept it in her heart along with that blinding, beautiful smile he'd given them, but she didn't let it preoccupy her. Which meant that what did preoccupy her about the whole affair was what still shadowed her, and that was negative as all hell.

"I'm sorry," he said, but she lifted a hand.

"It's all right. You can't help what you hear." Her tone did not invite continuation of the discussion. But she smiled at him afterward, trying to soften the sharpness of her voice. "But thank you."

He smiled back easily. "Mr. Jameson was telling me about your harvest," he began, and she tipped her head to the side to invite him to go on.

"I couldn't help but wonder if you needed any hands out there."

"Not really. The robots do most of the work, and my brother and I can split the rest between us. We do okay." She hadn't lied to Mari; they could use another set of hands, to split the work between. But they didn't, strictly speaking, need them. And it rubbed her the wrong to admit it to him. Mari was down on her luck and would understand, but Doris hadn't lived as long as she had taking care of Dan by asking for help. Frontier men were often quick to assume they could step in and take the reins, and Doris wasn't having it.

She remembered Dan's expression the previous morning, lugging in mutant eggs, boots slimed with mutant offal. When he'd first gotten old enough, chest puffed out, he'd declared that as the 'man' of the household he'd start taking over all of the heavy chores. Doris had raised her eyebrows, crushed a smirk, and serenely relinquished the field.

After two days, she'd stepped in and started shouldering her share again. Though he'd gone a fairly good-natured red every time she appeared next to him in the morning, he hadn't said a word about the matter. But to let the lesson sink in, Doris had let him keep the chore of mucking out the mutant chickens all to himself.

Unlike Greco or any number of unpleasant rowdies that occasionally liked to spend their time around the farm--right up until they realized she wasn't relinquishing anything and wasn't interested besides, the realization sometimes helped along with an application of her fist or a flick of her whip--Dan knew how to learn from his mistakes.

He smiled, undeterred. "Well, if you ever need any help--seasonal, like--just call me."

"All right," she said after a second's pause, noncommittal.

"Could you start carryin' the food over?" Terra asked. Doris came fully upright with a start, hurrying to take the first bowl. Lila slipped past her to pull out the smaller, scarred wooden table to fold out in the middle of the living room. "Shout that the chow's ready, would you?"

Doris jerked her chin at Freddie to inform him this task was his, and as he went into the hall she set the potatoes down on the table and turned back for more. Terra handed her a platter and slapped Lila's fingers away from the rim of a large blue bowl. Unabashed, her sister grinned, stuck her fingertips in her mouth and moved away.

Mattie came running in. He ran into her ankles and clung there until she knelt and scooped him up with one arm. "Hello, hello," he shouted happily into her ear, making her wince even as she kissed his cheek and briefly tickled his tummy. Freddie reappeared, took them in at a glance, and flushed as he took over carrying food out.

The people coming in weren't a trickle now, they were a flood. Chattering, sometimes shouting, overall a little sweaty and rough, but with washed hands and wide smiles, they gathered around the tables and the chairs, hard working folks with loud voices and lavish compliments. Terra came out of the kitchen to bask in the praise, smiling from ear to ear, and Doris scrounged up a plate and stood near the counter partitioning kitchen from dining room. She fed bites of food to Mattie, tearing into a hunk of meat herself, occasionally greeting those who said hello, waving to Mrs. Jameson.

Annie came by, looking chastened, and mumbled hello; Terra had probably had stern words with her baby sister, but Doris watched the way the girl's eyes glowed around Freddie and came to her own conclusions. She didn't know whether to feel more sympathetic or exasperated. If a little crush loosened her tongue so much...no, she must have thought the boy was trustworthy. She'd give her that much credit, at least. She wasn't that foolish with others' secrets.

Her grumbling belly was full again, content, and Mattie had his head laid sleepily on her shoulder when a shout came from the end of the room.

The room was full of Frontiers people. The atmosphere changed in a heartbeat--the crowd split for Mrs. Jameson as she pushed her way to the wall and snatched down a laser rifle, swinging it into her arms with the grace of long practice and training it down the doorway.

But it wasn't anyone who deserved her wrath, only a bleeding man. Doris's breath caught in her throat and she hastily pushed her way to the front of the crowd. Someone fetched a chair and the man slumped into it, scarlet rills spilling down his brow, over his nose, soaking his eyelashes in gaudy colour. "What's going on?" She demanded, voice sharp.

"Someone get a bandage," Mr. Jameson murmured, and the crowd moved again, seething with murmured questions and movement. Mikk appeared from the crowd after a moment with a kit, and as the man gasped for breath, harsh and heaving, he knelt beside him. Terra stood behind him, face taut with worry.

"Woods," he gasped finally as Mikk dabbed at his brow. "An attacker--I escaped--man behind--"

Voices rose, a sharp babble. "Someone has to help him," Lila said loudly, and it died briefly.

Doris gently bounced Mattie, began untangling them. "I'll go," she said. He protested sleepily, feeling the tension in the air and trying to cling to her shoulder, her hair. Terra winced when he tugged, came to retrieve him; their eyes met over his head, Terra's expression hard and solemn.

"Come back safe," she said. Mattie gave a little wail as they pulled apart, reaching for her anxiously. He was still half-asleep, but he knew something was wrong.

"I'll go with you," Freddie said, and Annie started to speak the way she always did.

"No," her mother said, perhaps harshly. "Geven, Ike, you'll go with her. Get the laser rifles. Annie, go fetch the horses for them," she added somewhat more kindly. Her daughter ran for the back. "Doris, do you need--?"

"I have what I need," she said simply. "Let's go."

They rode hard on cyborg horses, their hooves thundering the packed-dirt road, racing down with the night pulsing around them; at the front of the house the wounded man’s method of transport had been revealed, another cyborg horse with a front leg practically demolished at the joint. It must have been damaged in the battle, and broken down completely from such hard riding. She wondered if she was going to face the owner of that alien cry she had heard earlier now, urged on her animal to greater speed. The wind combed through her hair, and the big muscles in her thighs tensed, her body wound tight and ready like a spring.

They reached the juncture in short order. Evidently the man had found the strength to deliver more specific directions while she went to help prepare the horses; here Freddie took the lead and she relinquished it to him, slowing minutely to allow him to pick the left fork and then spurring her horse into speed again. It was easy to see where some large object had crashed off from the road into the brush, and the wreckage of the carriage only a little further. Doris swung down from her horse.

"Are you sure it's--" Freddie began when he too dismounted. Doris didn't have time to argue with him or make reassuring noises, and she certainly wasn't going to let him take the lead.

"Keep up if you can," she said, voice hard, and moved off steadily between the trees, as quick as she could while sure-footed and with a relative degree of stealth. His sound of protest was swallowed by the oppressive darkness between the trees, and she ignored him, letting her senses bloom into acute, quivering sensitivity, keen to every whisper of movement.

She was orienting herself before she was even sure she'd definitely caught a sound; she sped up, opening her stride, and suddenly the trees fell away. There was a heavy fallen trunk in front of her, clearly felled by battle; she was at the top in two quick vaults, crouching behind needle sprays.

A man in black faced off with a beast, roughly furred and raggedly attempting to howl, a low sound without breath that nonetheless came grinding from deep in his chest. His body bunched to spring, and there was blood on the man's long coat.

Her body went into motion, smoothly, almost without her thought to guide it. She jumped over the heavy trunk, flat footed as a cat, and the whip uncurled, a flash of black.

The beast screamed, a startlingly human sound. The first stroke drew blood, the second hauled his body back by the shoulder with near-tearing force. She set her feet, sent it flicking free as deadly claws swiped toward it, and then the beast was moving with mind-bending speed, the very air seeming to rebel at its passage.

She leapt at the last second, her mind clear, smooth, empty; her body worked, bunching and gathering itself, the whip in her hand, the spear in her other. Doris didn't have the straight-up brutal strength or supernatural speed to beat many of her unnatural enemies and their abilities that bent the very laws of physics. Instead, not quite by conscious planning, her style had adapted to take on traits some might call suicidal, the kinder might call risky. She needed to be unexpected. And if moving so that only a fraction of a second meant the claws gouged earth instead of her body, she would take it.

The whip lashed again, and this time it bit into its thigh. A pure, shining-white surge of visceral triumph flashed through her at the violent, foamy gout of blood at the artery. Yes, she thought, determined, and landed lightly, darting in fast while it was still staggering. The wound confused it enough to abate its terrible speed for a heartbeat, and she hammered two lightning-fast kicks into its knee, shattering tough bone.

It collapsed to its knees, conveniently onto her spear point, and she drove it in against slabs of muscle, beneath the dense bone and into that tough, fiercely pumping heart. Its claws missed, but a near-bruising blow struck her on the shoulder even as she jerked back from its weight, letting it slump onto the spear and drive it deeper.

The blow flung her to her knees, her vision jarring, dizzied. The shadows were unnatural, thick. Her grip tightened around her whip. Another enemy?

There was a harsh shout, the sound of a laser rifle firing, and then a whisper of movement and the wet thud of a corpse hitting earth. Fresh air flooded her lungs, the thickness of the air dying and moonlight filtering in once more. "Hey, asshole!" Someone--Freddie?--said too loudly too close, hands on her shoulders. "She saved your life. How about a little help? A little thanks?"

"I did not need aid," a low, cool voice answered, curt—a voice that was, nonetheless, closer than she’d previously sensed the other fighter. A voice that was utterly, terribly familiar.

Her heart lurched in her chest, rocketing into her throat. Doris pushed at Freddie's hands, shoving him away, and her breath roared in her ears as she scrambled to her feet, her voice too loud and breathy in the clearing and the still night air, the heavy darkness cobwebbing away, fading. "D?"

The dark figure at the edge of the trees, hat concealing much of his face--he wasn't wearing a scarf, like he had been when they first met, and she could see differences in the fall of his coat here and there, where it must have been patched--turned, suddenly and sharply. There was a muffled sound, maybe an exclamation, but it wasn't in his voice, and came from lower than his mouth.

"D," she said again, and her heart was pounding. She found she didn't quite have the words to continue. What did you say, anyway? Mystified, the silence stretched between them, but it wasn't an uncomfortable one, or one fraught with unpleasant tension. Somehow--just from the way the hat brim tipped up minutely, the darkness of his eyes steady on her from across the empty space--she knew that he understood the frantic firecrackers of emotion going off in her chest that she couldn't begin to put voice too.

In her place, Ike spoke. "What's your business, stranger?" He said. The others still seemed to be a little stunned from looking upon his face, but Ike's voice was steady, wary.

"I'm a Hunter," D said briefly.

"I can vouch for him," she broke in quickly.

Ike hesitated, then lowered the gun. "Miss Lang speaks for you, you're good with us," he said firmly. "And besides, I wouldn'a caught the bastard if you hadn't cut 'im down. You've got my thanks."

"It is not necessary. I must find my traveling companion."

"There's a man back at the house," Doris said. D's eyes hadn't left her. "Wounded, but superficially. He directed us here. Think he could be your charge?"

The hat brim inclined minutely. “I will accompany you.”

She coiled her whip, replaced it at her hip, and bent to shove at the monster that had fallen on her spear, knees digging into the soil, heaving against the thick, coarse-furred shoulder. A long, pale hand joined hers, gripping firmly, and rolled it with ease, the body settling onto the dirt with a heavy thud; she looked up into D's face. "Thanks," she said, and wrapped her hand around her spear, tugging it free. "Do you have a horse?"

"It was destroyed," he said, standing as she did, close enough that his coat brushed her wrist. Practically a speech coming from him; laconic didn't even begin to describe his general attitude towards communication. Doris grimaced, knowing well the price and effort that went into a truly fine cyborg horse.

"You can ride with me," she said. She knelt briefly to brace her spear and clean it, closing it up and sliding it into the holster again.

"Hey, now..." Ike protested, then shut his mouth when she wheeled on him.

"He's not a stranger to me, boys." Vexed, she planted her hands on her hips. "Arguin' with me isn't a real wise course to take at this moment, let me assure you. We'd best be gettin' back to let your Ma know none of us are expired, so hush up."

The faintest hint of a smile touched the corners of D's mouth when she turned back to him. "You'll ride with me," she said firmly. "And if the man's your customer, we'll get this sorted out. C'mon."

They moved back into the trees. Calmer now, and in less haste, she could take note of details only her peripheral vision and subconscious mind had attended to before. Scars marked the bark of trees, as though some animal had hauled itself along, or perhaps been bounding at a gravity-defying angle in pursuit. Distribution suggested more than two, which explained why she'd gotten a chance at her kill. The maker of the unnatural shadows must also have been distracted by D, because a spell of that apparent caliber almost certainly could have trapped any prospective intruders out of the way, or simply diverted them.

Clumsy human footsteps, and in a mere moment they reached the wreckage of the carriage, where their horses waited. She untied the reins and swung into the saddle, gathering them in her hand. D laid a hand on the saddle, thumb brushing her leg. "A good animal," he murmured, seemingly half-to-himself.

"I got him just after you left," she replied, equally soft. "And he's still working just fine."

Their eyes met. Any number of remarks flew to her lips to continue--remonstrations, concern, simple gladness--and finally she elected to say none of them, only giving him a half-smile. "Up?" She invited. In a movement so light and quick she barely caught it, he vaulted into the saddle behind her, and his arms came around her.

The brothers and Freddie were already mounted, Freddie's eyes awkwardly dwelling on D's grasp on her. "Let's go," Ike said briskly, and nudged his horse into a gallop.

There was a veritable crowd at the doors, light and people spilling out into the road. Mrs. Jameson held the reins of a cyborg horse, and Mr. Jameson was standing on the porch, April at his side. A ragged but sincere cheer went up when they were spotted, and the man who had staggered in was sitting on the porch steps, head securely bandaged, a large cup of tea cradled between his hands and steam gently wreathing his face.

"Doris, thank the lord." Mrs. Jameson handed the reins off to Lila and went to hold Doris's horse. She stared at D, looking faintly taken aback, and he swung down from the horse. "You've..." The brim of the hat lifted, revealing his face, and she flushed deeply, dazed.

D turned and extended his hand to Doris. She accepted it for what it was, startlement passing only briefly--not many men offered, and heaven knew those that did she didn't accept as a rule, but D knew better than anyone what she was capable of. If he offered, it wasn't as an underestimation.

Once she was on the ground, D politely released her hand. "Mrs. Jameson, this is Vampire Hunter D," she said matter-of-factly. "He came with us to see if it was his employer that sent us out. I can vouch for him," she added once more. To him, she said, "is this the man you're looking for?"

"Yes," he said. Just that.

The man on the porch rose to his feet, and for the first time she examined his ragged finery, assessing. It had known and was showing hard use, but no doubt it had began as something obscenely expensive. The relief in his fine, sculpted features was heavy and intense, and his skin was pale and fine, the skin of someone who'd never worked hard out in the sun in their lives. His nails were manicured, and she would lay good money that his hands were soft and white.

"D," he greeted, voice filled with palpable relief. "You're here."

He examined him with one slow, comprehensive sweep, taking in the bandage at his head. "You've done good work," he said aloud.

Mikk nodded. "Thank you," he said. "You're hired on with this man, then? How far are you going?"

"If it's not too much trouble, we'll pause here," the man said with weary dignity. "The Jamesons have kindly offered us lodging."

Startled, Doris traded glances with D without even thinking about it. "Are you sure that's wise?" She asked as delicately as she could. "What with the boarders already here--" And defenses that don't stand a chance against anything really determined, she was thinking, and though D barely moved she knew he was evaluating the defenses. She was sure he could take care of whatever came at him, but any Hunter worth their salt knew a defensible position was worth more than gold--especially when you weren't just fending for yourself.

"I won't turn a man in need away," Mr. Jameson said firmly.

Mattie squirmed out of the crowd and came running across the packed ground. Doris stepped forward to scoop him up, bouncing him gently on her hip as he clung to her. Children--especially Frontier children--knew loss all too well, and were alarmingly sensitive to even the prospect of it. "We have the electromagnetic fence," she said quietly. "They can stay with us."

Mr. Jameson's eyebrows shot up. "Well, now--" He began, taken aback.

"I won't have you endangered," she said, tipping her chin towards the crowd. "Dan and I can take care of ourselves, and we know D." Mattie nestled his hot face into her neck, hiccuping sniffles subsiding.

There was a hesitation. She turned to look at D, catching the queerest of brief expressions on his face as he studied her arms around Mattie, gone in a heartbeat. "What do you say?"

"It's hardly--" The man on the porch began.

"Either way, you're not going tonight," Mrs. Jameson said firmly. "Come inside, eat. You'll go out in the morning if you go out." The words released a faint sense of tension in the air and people began milling, filtering inside and clapping the boys on the shoulder.

"No, Doris got 'im," she heard Freddie say, and when she turned back toward her horse Annie was already there.

"I'll get 'er," she said apologetically, and Doris nodded and headed inward instead, climbing the steps. D was already beside his employer, speaking to him briefly in a low voice. The man flushed, angered, but his expression subsided with a hint of fear, listening chastened. Not surprising.

Doris hadn't realized that she'd paused until Terra said, "oh Doris, you don't have to hold him."

She turned, surprised. "I don't mind," she replied, but let her take Mattie when she reached out, transferring his sleepy weight. He clung, but gently and sank easily back into sleep when pried loose.

"I'd better put him down in our room," Terra said, and vanished into the house.

She turned, and D was beside her. The man cast her a largely polite glance as he went through the door, tinged with a faint resentment that was to be expected from a man used to commanding those about him by dint of wealth when he came in contact with D, who gave that kind of attitude little leeway.

"Dan will be real happy to see you," she said.

He took this in with no discernible expression. After a long moment he said, "he's been well?"

"He's on his way to growing up." She studied his face. It was never easy to read D; he was closed off by choice and nature alike, smooth and largely impenetrable. But somewhere along the line in that brief, fraught period where he'd worked for her--somewhere between when he'd given them that smile and when he'd promised against his own creed to spill rivers of blood to keep them safe--she'd found his cues and clues. And Doris would lay fairly decent money that he was glad to see them.

"He'll be a good man," he said softly.

"And he--and I--will live to see that day," she returned equally softly. "And we have you to thank for that."

His head shook minutely. "It isn't relevant."

Doris laughed out loud, startled. "You kiddin'? Of course it is." Her voice gentled. "Even if you'd never showed up again, D, we woulda remembered you, and fondly." The intensity of his dark-eyed gaze made her voice stutter on the last word, heat rising to her cheeks. "And--you know what I mean," she finished awkwardly, shrugging.

"It isn't safe for you to harbour him," he said.

She followed the segue, blinking. "I can handle myself, D," she said. "So can Dan. And anyway--with what you can do, we'll just be backup. Baby-sitters, even. It's always good to have someone watching the target for any sneaky stuff. I never went pro, but even I know that. And I can't let him endanger these people. They're friends, and the refugees have gone through enough."

"Miss Lang?"

Doris realized how close they were all of a sudden, speaking in low intense voices, his head inclined toward hers. She twitched back, cheeks burning, and turned to see Mari standing in the doorway. "Mrs. Jameson wanted me to ask you to come in and eat up," she said politely, and nodded at D. "Mr. D, too. She won't have her guests go hungry." She stepped back, leaving the doorway invitingly empty.

Doris looked up at him.

"Alright then. He wants the safety of the electromagnetic field," he said to her, voice low and hard. And D listened to his employer--more often when it suited him than when it did not, but he did.

"Then he'll have it," she said pleasantly, and stepped into the house, past Mari. "Come on in."

"We'll leave at first light," Doris said. She was in the shadowed stables, checking over her cyborg horses. She rubbed her thumb along a long graceful line of metal against one's throat, absent and thoughtful. "It takes a good while to get home in time for dusk, and we'd best move at a steady pace."

"Alright," D said calmly. And then, as her hands continued to move restlessly, the only sound the soft whicker of the horses and their subtle movements, "what's wrong?"

Her fingers stilled. "I don't know," she said, frustration spiking. "I thought it must have been this, when he came in the door--but even after killing that thing, I don't feel any better. I've had a bad feeling for days." To a Hunter, especially one who had gone through what he had gone through at her side, she didn't need to say more.

"I see," he said. "Better or worse when you came here?"

She chewed that over. "Worse," she decided finally. "I don't like it at all. I don't think the hairs on the back of my neck have laid down once since I arrived."

"The danger following us has not been spent," he said, voice cool and low in the dark.

"I hope that's it," she agreed, matter-of-fact. "I don't got any other real clue. Just you, and all I can do is wait for it to blow over."

He was silent.

Doris turned. "I'm gonna be involved," she said firmly. "One way or another."

"I know," was his reply.

The words fell between them; she looked up into his face and let her hands fall away from the horse's flanks. "D," she said, and then bit her lip and came toward him. She reached up--not as far up as she had once had to reach--and gripped the brim of his hat, lifting it from his head. Her hand fell back to her side and they studied each other without even that small barrier of shadows.

"I don't..." She'd lost her thread of thought, she realized. He hadn't stopped her from taking the hat, or drawn back, and he simply looked at her now, silence unfurling patiently throughout the room. "I'm glad to see you again, D," she said at last. "I'm glad to see that you're safe."

As foolish as it may have seemed, someone like her worrying about someone like him, he almost seemed to smile. He didn't say anything in return, but his hand lifted and he brushed her dark hair away from her face, from the warm flush of her cheeks. She remembered that gesture, from when she'd leaned over him on the couch, unclothed, her long hair tumbling around them both.

Doris stepped forward. His cool fingers stopped at her cheek, and then curved against the back of her neck. He didn't pull her closer, didn't even encourage the movement, but she saw the darkening spread of his eyes, the midnight pupil against the night-dark iris.

She thought she heard another voice for a second, a low hoarse hiss of words, but she deliberately spoke over it when she said, "did you really think we'd forget you?"

"...it probably would have been best."

"If I always did what others thought best for me," she responded, "I would have gone into the asylum on the spot when I got bit, and I'd be that damn Count's wife, and better off dead. You don't work for me anymore--you don't have to obey me--but don't tell me what's best for me, D, you should know better."

And in that instant he bent to her.

It still felt as good. The coolness of his skin made hers come alive, that knife-edge sense of danger and pleasure all at once. It was like silk, like the bright ozone-hot strike of lightning close enough to shock sensation through her limbs, a shadow of electricity. And at the same time it could almost have been called mundane, in the dark stable where a thousand others in similar places had probably indulged in illicit gropings. His still form, the subtle curve of her back, his mouth pressed to hers.

She closed her eyes, eyelashes brushing against her cheek, and his mouth moved against hers. She shuddered and her free hand slid up his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat. His grip on the back of her neck shifted subtly, coat enveloping them, and she rose to her toes. His left hand was held away from her, and she still held his hat, but the hard lines of his broad shoulders and chest, her thigh sliding against his, destroyed any illusion of propriety or separation.

His lips opened against hers, the softest hint of his tongue tracing wet across her bottom lip. It lit a spark of heat that went straight to the pit of her belly and lit to a conflagration of desire. Doris gave a low, shuddering moan.

And then he was gone.

She staggered, flinging out a hand and catching herself on a stall door. A flush of embarrassment and need at once, tangled thorny together, tingled on her skin at the falter; she felt ungainly as a newborn foal, and he was standing a good distance away, turned from her. The line of his shoulders was hard and set, and the cold ripple that emanated from his rigid form and chilled her to the bone made her gasp softly, hissing a breath out between her teeth.

"D," she said steadily after a moment, catching her breath.

He turned back.

She lifted her hand, extending the hat to him. In the darkness, so far away, his expression was hard to read. "Here," Doris said simply.

His low cool voice had a rough edge to it when he said, "thanks." And took it without another word from her hand.

She turned to walk from the stable, legs a little watery, the hot simmer of desire drawing achingly tight in her body strangled with forced poise. "Get some rest, D," she said over her shoulder, and there was no reply.


	2. Chapter 2

"Are they incapable or just unlikely to attack during daytime?" Doris asked him briskly the next morning, hooking the cyborg horses to the wagon. She'd washed and drawn her hair back in a tight braid, and was dressed, businesslike and well-controlled. A flush of warmth went through her when she'd first seen him come around the house, but she'd given no sign of it but a broad real grin of greeting.

"Unlikely," he said simply. "We'll need to move with haste."

She swung into the driver's seat and clicked her tongue softly to the horses. Their ears pricked to attention. In the watery near pre-dawn light, only Mrs. Jameson, Ike, Freddie and Terra were up to bid them farewell, still yawning. Mrs. Jameson carried her laser rifle, but with a relaxed stance. Mr. Jameson had paid Doris last night before he went to bed, but the strife of the last month was taking its toll.

"You be careful, miss," Freddie said to Doris.

She gave him a curt nod. "You too," she told the family, sweeping her gaze over the porch. "I'll see you later." Twitching the reins, she sent her horses forward, and the injured man, stored in the back of the wagon and still sleeping, curled deeper into his blanket as they began the long ride home.

D kept tireless pace beside her, of course, and the sun rose by increments. When it grew high enough to glare, she dug out her own protective traveling hat and tugged it down over her brow. They moved steadily but quickly, and periodically woke his employer; though it was a fairly shallow scalp wound, which always bled like a bitch, it was better to be safe than sorry with a head wound. He took the rousing without complaint and always sank swiftly back under.

Doris spent a decent amount of time on the road, and had always liked to go hunting in the peaceful misty hour between dawn and daylight, with her spear and gun and little else but her own thoughts for company. She was used to settling into the lull of motion, and she let it carry her under. D wasn't one for conversation, so she didn't feel burdened to keep him company, as she might have with Dan's edgy liveliness at her side--not that she didn't enjoy her brother's company, but the energy of an adolescent boy could be wearing on a hard-working adult even when he was doing his best to shoulder his share of the load.

Noon came, and they stopped in a small outpost, taking a quick break from the blistering sun. She drank from a water bottle kept cool by the built-in mechanics of the wagon and offered another to D, who accepted without a word. His employer clearly thought about turning his nose up at her common supplies--it was plain as day in his tired face--but a combination of thirst and Doris's unimpressed glare made him accept a spare.

"You're okay?" She asked D quietly, wiping dampness from her mouth and rubbing the back of her hand over her forehead. The sunlight was harsh and bright on them from above, and she knew it pained him.

"Fine." His reply was brief but calm, and she nodded, accepting the response.

After caring for the horses she climbed into the driver's seat again and this time the gentleman came up with her. She hadn't brought a spare hat, so without a word she wrapped the blanket around him to shield his face. He was clearly aware of the indignity but said nothing, accepting it with a brief thanks, and her opinion of him dragged up one grudging notch.

It was many hours later that they found the road home, and she spared a moment for regret that they were approaching in a different direction than the bulk of the farm. It would have been pleasant--home before home, so to speak--to be surrounded by it as they approached. Reassuring, in its own way.

Tipping her hat back, she deactivated the electromagnetic fence and guided the horses up to the porch, swinging down. "Dan!" She hollered, helping down the man. "Come on out! We've got guests!"

There was a cheerful shout of acknowledgment out in the back of the house and after a moment he came running into sight, dusty and grinning. "I finally got the..."

His shout petered off and he came skidding to a stop, staring at D dumbfounded with a gaping-open mouth. "D," he said, and then his grin broke out again, brilliant, and he came hurtling forward again, crashing into the hunter with a tight, bone-breaking hug. "D!" He shouted into the fabric of his dark coat. "I knew we'd see each other again."

One hand came to rest on his head. "You did, did you?" But his voice was low and gentle. Doris, leaning against the porch, realized she was smiling so wide it nearly hurt her cheeks, luminous happiness filling her heart up fit to burst.

Dan broke away suddenly. "Whoa! Who's the other guy, sis?"

She tipped her chin toward the wounded man, who had sank down on the steps in probably unconscious mimickery of his pose when she'd first returned to the Jameson's farmhouse with D riding behind her. "D's new employer. They're lodgin' here for a bit to take advantage of the electromagnetic fence, so we'd best be on high alert, okay? You checked everything out this morning?"

"Of course I did!" Dan grinned at her, then at D. "So we're gonna kick some butt, huh?"

Smiling, Doris straightened. "After you finish your chores, maybe," she reminded him. "Go on! I'll fix dinner for us, and fix up a room or two."

He looked wide-eyed up at D. "Man, I just..."

"You are not enlisting him to do them for you!" She reprimanded, amused and exasperated all at once. "You're a grown boy now, remember? And we're not his job anymore, he's got somebody else to look after. Get!"

He pulled an exaggerated face and went tearing off. His shout came drifting over his shoulder. "I've got lotsa stories to tell you when I get done!"

"Come on in," she said, her eyes flashing to the horizon. The same old uneasiness slipped through her, trembling down her spine. Her brows pulled together, mouth thinning out. Nothing concrete. She had enough faith in her own instincts to believe they'd give her something solid before matters become more critical, so she turned and met D's eyes, tipped her head toward the front door.

Inside, the air was cool and secure. She pushed the door shut and locked it--Dan would come in from the back--flipping a light switch to softly illuminate the room. "Come on into the kitchen if you want," she said to the man and D. "I'll make us something. And sorry, but we were never introduced."

"You are Doris Lang," he said after a pause. Apparently he'd been paying attention, or more likely someone had told him back at the Jamesons'. "And I am Dr. Meyers from the Capital."

"Pleased to meet you." It wasn't much of a pleasure--she had no real feeling one way or another towards him at the moment--but she'd been raised polite, after all. She led the way into the kitchen. "Just give me a bit."

And behind her she felt D's eyes on the back of her neck, lingering, like an unspoken promise lay between them somehow, forged in the shadows of the previous night.

During dinner, Dan reveled in the opportunity to brag with all of his might.

Doris served out food, kept an eye on the Doctor, and made dry and slightly more realistic interjections into Dan's wild tales less than she might have. He was glorying in D's attention--although she knew the Hunter must have been sparing a good deal of attention on his surroundings, prepared--and he wasn't outright lying, after all. Just embellishing by way of extravagant words.

Doris was familiar with the desire to impress. And it made her happy to see his face luminous with joy the way it was, a bright and uncomplicated happiness.

She'd seen D's eyes scan the insides of the house when he'd entered. Not much had changed in the intervening time; she'd repainted one wall that had been scorched by laser fire, and they'd been forced to replace the kitchen table, but the house remained largely undisturbed, as dear and familiar a sight to their hearts as it had ever been. Somehow--unlike the first period of time after their father's death, when every corner had reminded them of him--she'd become accustomed to it as their home, just the two of them. They'd made it their own.

And yet, in his own way, D had also made his stamp. Indelible, unmistakeable, his shadow occupied corners. Not intrusive or upsetting, but a quietly pervasive memory. Maybe it just came from that intimate involvement in life and death he'd been with them through. Maybe it was simply that dhampir intensity. Either way, his presence in their kitchen, listening calmly to Dan's energetic voice, didn't feel like a stranger, or even a visiting friend. He felt like a part of their home, though Doris didn't fool herself into thinking the feeling was so wholly reciprocated.

Maybe the Doctor sensed the subtle seclusion, the permeating taint of outsider that subtly shrouded him in their eyes. Or maybe he simply wasn't that comfortable with strangers himself. Either way, he ate with dignity and politely responded to Dan's remarks and Doris's occasional contribution, but largely kept to himself. Doris couldn't say she was sorry; he didn't make her wary in the way an enemy might, or someone unfriendly, but she remained neutral as to his presence, and could find no trace of true welcome in her.

Something was going to happen, and she wasn't wasting energy or thought with the stranger. It was as if some deep animal instinct in her heart was holding her in a delicate stasis, whispering wait. Wait and it will come.

After dinner she stood by the window looking out, cupping her elbows in her hands. She studied the windowsill, letting her eyes go unfocused and her senses prick, trying fruitlessly as she had a dozen nights before to pinpoint the source of her uneasiness.

"What is it?"

Even as attuned as she was, she hadn't caught his near-soundless step. Surprised, she turned--but smiled as she did so, to see his still face, hat put aside. "Nothing," she said, and then clarified, "nothing especially. Just trying to pay more attention." 

He joined her at the window. "If we're intruding..." He let the words trail, a subtle challenge or maybe humour beneath the words. Doris grinned.

"No," she said, amused. "I haven't changed my mind, and I'm not likely to. You're both welcome. And like I said, I think I'm mixed up in this regardless."

"Dan took his rifle up to his room with him," D remarked.

"Yeah. He's kinda been picking up on my bad feeling." She stared at a warp in the glass unseeing, frowning hard. "I just don't like it," she muttered, half to herself. "It's been with me too long to be as neat as you appearing with your problem."

"Then we'll have to be aware," was all he said. They stood together at the window, and Doris was caught between a quiet pleasure in the calm, comfortable silence and a girlish flush at the way his arm was aligned with hers, contact brushing along her skin. It trembled in the pit of her stomach, cheeks flushing lightly at the rush of warmth, and she tipped her chin up, clearing her throat.

The change in the air alerted her instantly, and she turned swiftly, meeting his eyes. "D? What's—" The words died in her throat, choked off by the blaze of his eyes. He closed them and turned his head away, swiftly, but Doris comprehended in an instant. "Oh," she said, stunned. And then, gentler, "oh."

She hadn't forgotten his nature, exactly. But she'd become comfortable with it, in her own way. Her feelings toward the Nobles were more thorny and complicated, ironically enough, than they had been before she had been preyed upon. Count Magnus's twisted lust and evil contrasted with not only D's quietly fierce protection but Larmica's glacial deadly pride and strange honour. She remembered watching Greco fall, and feeling only a hard satisfaction even as Larmica's slender fingers wiped away the scarlet trail of blood.

If any of her fellow villagers knew, she thought she might be strung up on the spot. There was no match for the contempt they held 'traitors' in--rather like the Nobility and their hunters, the dhampirs, to be honest.

She shared the thought with him, candidly, and the shadows he'd retreated into stirred. "Not so different," she confided quietly. "We all have our monsters and our heroes."

After a hesitation, she thought she saw the shadow of a smile flicker across his mouth. "And our fools," he said, and his gaze dwelled on her, her widening eyes and the pale column of her throat. She thought it was lamplight in his eyes for a brief second, until she realized that the only light was on in the next room, and the red sheen spilling over his features belonged to him alone. "Doris."

"I'm not afraid of you," she said quietly. "Not like that, anyway. It's all right." She reached out, breath caught, barely believing her own daring. Her fingers touched his cheek, slid against his skin. "I've faced your hunger before, remember?" She was speaking of that moment beneath the tree, when his arms had crushed her against his chest and his snarl had rumbled through her, trembling along her skin--and she'd still held on, as hard as she could, not because she was afraid of the sharp sting of teeth, but because she had known then that he was leaving, and soon.

"I have to keep watch," he said, but there was a raw note in his low cool voice that thrilled and shocked her to the core, a ragged thread of hunger. It should have scared her.

Her breath came in wobbly, but not with fear. It trembled through her, that echo of an animalistic growl, and she firmed her touch, slid it down his throat and over his chest. Her fingers spread against his shirt. His eyes were fixed on her throat with luminous, alien hunger—but they flicked down, where she knew her shirt revealed the shadow of cleavage. Two lusts warred sharply, or maybe simply entangled deeper.

She couldn’t help but wonder if she was a fool for not flinching.

"All right," she said, and it was as if her voice snapped some connection, left them standing wholly alone again. She should know better--did know better--than to even ask him for something like this, nebulous and hungry as the request or offer had been, while he was on a job. D was a consummate professional with iron self-control, and Doris was hardly a green amateur herself, to be attempting to occupy them with something so thoroughly distracting while danger threatened.

"I think I'm going to go up to bed," she said when the moment stretched, thick. "Goodnight, D." Who knew if she would actually be able to sleep, with things as they were; it was better to try than be worn out, slow and distracted when the attack finally and inevitably came. She rubbed at the back of her neck, a tired and reflexive gesture, and started across the room.

The weight of his eyes on the back of her neck, like they had been earlier that evening, kept her breath controlled and shallow as she vanished into her bedroom. The Doctor had been grateful for the room, and went in to sleep heavily before dinner without emerging. Dan should be curled up in bed as well now; she quashed the urge to check in on him, knowing that tonight of all nights he'd be sleeping like a cat. She didn't want to wake him up for no good reason.

Instead, clad in a nightshirt, she slid between her own covers, acutely attuned to the sense of her own weapons arrayed throughout the room, at least two close in hand. She curled in the hollow between covers and mattress, the air warming to her body heat, and thought of D, standing alone out in the living room, waiting for--who knew? The conclusion to this whole mess, a sign, an excuse, or simply waiting with distant patience for the night to move, bringing whatever it might bring.

She wished she'd said something to him, something real. But none of her words were adequate, and in spite of herself she was content with the silence, for all that it gave her nothing concretely reassuring when she went over it in her mind afterwards. D had a certain way of communicating, that was for sure.

She closed her eyes and drifted into a light sleep, ready to come awake at the slightest hint, her breathing evening out until eventually the light near-meditation drifted into true sleep and she sank below the surface of consciousness.

In a heartbeat, she was awake and out of bed, her feet on cold floorboards, her whip in her hand.

Doris reached for the gun on her dresser, was out of the room before she was even thinking about moving. D was already standing, though the couch showed signs of at least being laid upon. "Your defenses?" He asked tersely, and she blinked, coming fully awake, and ran to the console in her nightshirt and bare feet, swinging it out of revealment and keying in the first command.

"The sensors picked up on something, but distorted. It's moving pretty goddamn fast," she noted, and turned to fetch her holster. Strapping it to her thigh she put away her gun and crept catlike towards the windows, feet almost soundless. "Where?" The sound was barely audible, escaping her on a smooth and steady breath, tumbling from her lips as the cool focus of impending battle settled over her.

His head jerked to the side before he could answer, and his hand leapt to the hilt of his sword. "The window," she whispered, and jerked her chin outward. It opens. She slapped the console and the whole setting swung out; in a heartbeat her feet were on grass, his dark coat whispering beside her. When she glanced back into the house Dan squinted back, hair ruffled and laser rifle clutched tight in his grip; she raised a hand and he nodded, disappearing into the back of the house to their guest's room.

It was out there. Not her main worry--that particular low hum of foreboding had gotten a little sharper, but not that much--but something dangerous. Her whip flickered out, testing space and softly ruffling grass--and there, a quick flash of movement, displaced air.

The bastard's invisible, she thought, gritting her teeth. Her hand was on the butt of the gun. She glanced at D, waiting for his movement, the clue of his keener senses.

"Down," was all he said when it came, but she threw herself down instantly, rolling with the gun in her hand and firing. A bright sharp light pierced the air, and then another; the second clarified into D's sword, and there was a high, enraged yipping, the heavy wet falling patter of blood and a thud. Not heavy enough to be the body she'd sensed, but maybe a limb. She came to her feet in a rush and took two fast steps, squinting into the dark; the wind ruffled her hair, soft.

"Damn," she said in disgust, and retreated to D's side. No need to bother asking him if he was wounded.

"You okay?" His voice was curt but it didn't bother her; she nodded.

"Tough little shit, isn't he?" She asked, still searching the darkness with her eyes.

"We both hit him," D said calmly. "I don't think he'll return tonight. He might even die out there."

She holstered her gun, pursing her lips. "I don't like leaving it up to fate. But it'd be damn hard to track that thing, I bet."

"It will have taken to the air," he replied, and she nodded. No reliable blood spoor, then.

Doris turned to go back in, coiling the whip without a thought. She jumped up into the room, waiting until he was inside as well until she let the heavy frame slide home again. "And Dan got up for no purpose," she muttered. "Well, I'd better go tell him it's gone and all."

Without a word, D reached out. She turned, surprised, and realized he'd plucked a piece of grass from her hair. "Oh," she said, and flushed. "Thanks for that." It startled her, the thought of how well they'd worked together in that brief, urgent moment. She doubted indeed that the thing would be coming back for seconds tonight--laser fire and D's sword must be an unpleasant combination.

Dan was yawning but bright-eyed and alert. He'd awoken the Doctor so they could move if need be, but when she reported that they seemed to have driven it off, the Doctor promptly crawled back into bed and Dan nodded, unbothered, and trailed back to bed after a quick buss on the cheek, sweet and thoughtless just like a little brother.

Doris closed the door carefully, moving throughout the shadows of the house and into the main interior. She reached D in a moment and stood looking up at him in the still, breathless quiet of midnight in their house.

"They'll be going to rest," she said.

He had taken off his traveler's hat this time, and it was placed on a corner of the couch. He didn't respond verbally, though his dark eyes were trained on her. He must be able to hear the patterns of their breathing; theirs settling into the peaceful rhythms of slumber, hers hitching softly in the dark.

She took his hand, thumb tracing across the cool palm, her bare feet cool on the smooth planks. "D," she said quietly--taking that risk even though she knew better, she did, they both did. If she was a fool--well then, there was nothing to be done for it. "Come to bed."

Without a word, he followed her when she took a step back.

In the shadows of her room she worked, unhurried, at the buttons of her shirt. He swept her hair back over her shoulder with one hand, watched her with steady impenetrable eyes as she let the fabric slip down, hit the floor, hooking her thumbs under the waistband of her panties. His eyes traced the lines of her body, the smooth curve of her hips and thighs, the hard lines of muscle. She gently let them slid down her legs, stepped lightly out of them.

And then she stepped closer, looking up at him, meeting his eyes beneath the shadow of his hat. "D," she said softly. One corner of his mouth turned up, the carved sensuality of his mouth almost softening.

"You are very brave," he said.

Doris laughed, the sound choked off in her throat with desire, breathless. "No," she said. When had her voice gotten so throaty? His eyes on her bare body were like the touch of a hand, hot and silken skin. She didn't know that she'd ever wanted anything so much in her life.

His hand fisted in her hair, drawing her head back; she was breathing in quick shallow pants, breasts pressed against the faded black coat, nipples abraded by the fabric. She looked at him through her lashes, biting down on her lips, but his eyes were trained on the length of her throat.

They'd been in a position like this once before, his hunger a palpable hum between them. But this time there was nothing hiding him, no restraining hand, to conceal his carven elegance turning bestial, the snarl curling his lips.

Doris drew in a long, ragged breath. She knew her pulse was going a mile-a-minute, and he could hear it. But she wasn't afraid. Reaching up with one steady hand, she touched the corner of his mouth with calloused fingers, trailing it along his upper lip to touch one gleaming fang.

His bottomless black eyes shifted to meet hers. Doris watched him steadily, unflinching. Go on then, she thought, half bravado, half sheer trust, all hot, sleek desire throbbing between her legs. "I'm not scared," she said aloud, and a shudder went through him.

She didn't flinch when his head lowered, deliberately slow, to her throat. But she did close her eyes.

But he didn't bite her. Instead he kissed down her throat, slow and careful, tongue flickering against her wildly beating pulse like he was tasting it. She took in a shuddering breath and moved back slightly, feeling for the bed behind her. His grip tightened minutely--not preventing her, just making his opinion clear.

"My legs aren't gonna hold," she said breathlessly. D nuzzled against her throat, hair falling against her shoulders, and his breath lapped over her skin, warmer than she'd expected. It touched her collarbone, and he drew her against him, that formidable iron strength showing again to support her.

"Okay," she said, shaky and licking her lips, half-laughing. "Okay," she said again, in a whisper, and her fingers dug into his arms through the coat. One of his hands rose, tracing the line of tendons in her turned neck, nail grazing her skin. She shivered at the prickle of sensation, her nipples tightening again, and made a sound low in her throat.

The sound that rolled from his throat in response was low, brief, barely vocal--and not at all human. Doris shuddered and knew it was stupid, irredeemably stupid for that sound to make her wet and trembling, to make the thick hot pulse of desire between her legs almost painful. Her hands twitched with the knife for her whip or spear, but at the same time her hips jerked and she whimpered, a low raw prey sound in the back of her throat.

He closed his mouth over the curve between neck and shoulder, fangs scraping lightly--drawing maybe thin beads of blood--and sucking, as though ravenous despite the lightness of the sting. His body shuddered against her and she twisted, slid her arms under his and the coat and wrapped them around the hard planes of his body, pulling them flush together.

"D--" She said, a frantic note bleeding through. "Bed. Now."

She felt his mouth move subtly, maybe in a smile, and tugged him backwards. Her legs hit the bed; she crawled onto its surface, body moving with easy muscular grace, sleekly fluid. She felt alive, her skin humming, and she laid back, feeling his gaze on her skin, rubbing her hands in slow circles over her stomach--restless circles, need clamping tight at the back of her neck, down her spine into the shimmery bloom of scarlet desire in the pit of her stomach and between her legs.

Without ceremony, but nonetheless with that graceful economy of motion that drew the eye like a magnet, D removed his coat, folding it over the bedside table. She rolled to her knees and reached for his belt; for a moment her fingers were awkward, unused to undressing someone else, the angle strange--but then she got the catch and it opened and she drew the belt through the loops.

He stripped his shirt over his head.

Smooth, pale skin, wrapped over the sleek swell of muscle, a fighter's hard body. A dhampir's body healed too fast for most scars, and she'd seen his skill firsthand, so she was almost surprised by the number of scars that littered his smooth skin. She touched him, fitting her palm to the curve of pectoral muscle, feeling the stillness in his body as he waited, letting her explore him. How many years had he lived, to amass so many markers of the battleground on skin that healed swift as a breath?

Doris looked up and caught his eyes. For a long moment they looked at each other, and she remembered everything, everything he'd ever offered her, his sword and his protection, the phantom of his touch. She knew his clipped lack of patience, his traces of sarcasm, his efficiency and callousness along with his wisdom and the shadows of compassion he'd showed to her and Dan, greater in enacted reality than any extravagant display she'd ever encountered.

She didn't know his life, or his history--she didn't know his family. But she thought she could say with reasonable accuracy that she was close to knowing the man, or the monster, or whatever he considered himself to be. And she loved him.

If that made her a fool--well hell then, she'd just have to live with it, wouldn't she? Dan wouldn't mind that she was a little crazy. And the only other person whose opinion she really cared about was right here in this room, meeting her eyes, and though there was any number of emotions in his eyes, some strange and some familiar, disgust or revulsion were not among them.

He curled his left hand slowly into a tight, almost painful-looking fist and bent to her, the other hand brushing her hair out of her face again. He said her name, and Doris slid her fingertips beneath the waist of his pants, feeling smooth cool skin heat to the touch. She rose to kiss him, mouth drawing sweetly and silken-soft across his, the kiss branding her with heat, searing into her skin. She trailed her mouth downward, pressing a hard kiss over where a human heart would beat, drawing the flesh into her mouth and biting, lightly, letting the heat of her skin seep into his, tongue curling over his nipple.

He hissed, and a shudder went through him.

"Kiss me," she said, releasing him, drunk on the taste of his skin. He looked at her, the black of his eyes drowning-deep. "Kiss me," she repeated, and swept her hair back over her shoulders, leaned back; let him choose, mouth or throat or simply skin.

He picked her mouth, leaning in, the kiss hard and devouring. She responded, flowing into his arms, the curve of her hips cupped against him, his hands trailing down her back. His touch was measured and even, not a grope but a slow caress, drawing the moment out as though time fought through honey. Desire spiked in her belly, drew her taut like an instrument singing to his hands on her skin. She moaned, soft and open, and her head fell back. Her hands splayed against his chest, his bare skin, feeling the subtle roughness of scars like a map over his skin, rivers and roads trailing in loops to the promise of more skin. More contact. Her hands circled around to his back.

Her breath came in; deep, unsteady. She twisted in his arms, his hands skimming skin, and dropped back with her knees rising at his waist, disconnecting, her hands dragging at his waistband. They slid down, revealed the line of muscle, dark hair, the delineation of his hips; then he was over her, his hands braced on the mattress, kissing her ferociously. She pushed with her feet now, dragging his pants down, her hands sliding up his back and palming the swell of muscle. Her nails traced the line of his spine as he flexed, his back bowing, shoulder blades shifting beneath his skin as he lowered himself toward her. Her breasts pressed against his chest and he was cradled between her thighs; the sound she made was broken, hitching, raw and open in her throat. The angle was all wrong--she canted her hips, rocked against him, his skin turning slick between them with her arousal. Her hand tangled in the darkness of his hair, body wound tight and trembling.

He shifted, his arm moving between them; a stroke of his fingertips, her sharp wail muffled by his mouth, swallowed into the kiss, and then his fingers slid inside her. She clenched around him, feeling his thumb stroking, seeking--finding, a bright white-hot trigger point of pleasure and her hips jerked into his hand as she came apart and tightened around him, her vision whiting out.

She drifted back to earth slumped against him, his slick fingers on her stomach. His face was buried in the curve of her shoulder, lips moving slightly against her skin. She could feel the tension in him, singing there.

Doris smoothed a shaky hand over the back of his neck and he raised his head to look at her. "Hey..." She said. Her voice was soft and rough; she licked her lips. "It's okay."

His eyes slid to her throat, returned to her eyes. Her pulse was only now slowing, golden lassitude flowing through her. Her hair spread over the pillows, damp tendrils clinging to the corner of her mouth. His voice was too low when he said, "you aren't afraid."

There wasn't a question in it, though something in his eyes, the line of his mouth almost implied it. A softer undertone very nearly of wonder, underlying the clipped words.

"No," she said, and slid her hands to cup his face. "Kiss me," she said once more, and this time her meaning was unmistakable.

He stroked a hand over her forehead, into her hair, leading the arch of her neck; he licked up the line of her throat, the pronounced tendons, the flutter of pulse and the skin beneath her jaw, fragile and frantic with blood. His mouth trailed downward, locked low against the side of her throat, almost at her shoulder. Sharp teeth grazed her skin and she tensed, whimpered between her teeth, her hips pushing up against him.

And then he found the right angle and pushed inside, and all her focus fractured.

He was cooler than she at first, a contrast that heightened everything, the wet slide, the rushing tight shock of needle-sharp pleasure and the aching stretch of unused muscles. She was slick and warm, feverish against him; she twisted in his arms again, damp with sweat, surged up and hooked her legs around his waist, pulling him in hard. His name ground out between her teeth.

She could feel her pulse slamming against her skin, against his mouth and the slick press of his tongue. He thrust once, lazy and slow, and her hips rolled, her nails digging into his shoulders. She moaned open-mouthed--"oh god"--and held on tight.

With his mouth locked to her throat he lifted her lower body from the bed, found a rhythm that was hard and sure, thrusting deep into her body. The muscles in her thighs tightened, relaxed, her body clenching around him. That heat was building again firecracker-hot and wild, pulsing to her fingertips, hot at her lips. She closed her eyes, a breath shuddering out, and writhed loosely against him, setting her nails deeper into his shoulders. The snarl he made at the sting of pain was muffled by her flesh, an animal vibration. She released him to throw a wrist over her mouth, muffling her near-scream.

He thrust once more, hard and so deep inside her she felt it like a electric shock--his mouth locked, drawing, against her neck--and she came again, clenching around him like a fist, tightening and bearing down as the orgasm tore through her, all his chill gone. He jerked out--her mouth opened in a silent wail, dropping onto the bed with a ragged gasp--and came messy against the sheet.

Doris gasped for breath, deep shuddering intakes of air, and rolled with him as he moved off her body, curling against the line of his. He held her against him, his arms curving against her like iron, but she had no desire to move away. D's mouth gentled on her throat. Her mind, zapped with the electric pleasure, cast about for something to say.

Muffled against him, she said, "wow." It seemed appropriate.

A shiver went through him that might have been laughter. She reached up, tentatively felt the raw pulse of her skin. He'd drawn blood--she felt dampness--but not much. It probably looked mostly like a serious hickey. They should definitely--

"—need to clean up," she said, voice drowsy and slow, nuzzling into the skin of his throat.

He rolled her unexpectedly. Suddenly straddling him she looked down, puzzled, her hair curtaining them both and closing them off from the world. "D?" She asked, and he moved his left hand over the sheets, drawing her down for a slow kiss that didn't quite block a flare of heat and the rush of air against her calf. When she rolled back the wet spot from their combined fluids was gone. I guess he can do everything, she thought, and hid her smile against his chest as she tugged the covers up over them, letting the softness of his breathing and the press of his body lull her into quiet slumber.

The next morning, birds greeted her with the sleepy twitters of predawn light. Doris came awake in a heartbeat, pulse jolting, and then drew in a deep breath, stretching long and leisurely, feeling the new tug of softly aching muscles previously unused, the marks of his fingers on her wrists, his mouth on her throat. Light danced beneath her skin, even the memory of it filling her with honeyed, golden pleasure.

D still laid beside her, which surprised her. He was obviously awake, but had not yet had reason to stir, and he studied her when she laid back down, cheek pressed to the pillow, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulder.

"I should have braided it," she said matter-of-factly, the words slipping into the easy silence.

He reached out and lifted a soft length of it in his hand, trailing it between his fingers. "It's still long," he said, and smiled faintly, the movement of his mouth subtle. His focus was formidable, and though she didn't fool herself that he didn't have a part of his mind keenly trained on his surroundings--she did, after all--a good portion of it was trained securely on her.

"When I'm not good enough to keep it long anymore, it gets a trim," Doris said tartly, smiling herself. "It's gonna be a while before I'm so bad I let opponents close enough to get a grip."

"Tactical," he observed, his fingers trailing down her arm, smoothing across the graceful shape of her ribs, then the curve of her hip. He didn't seem to be touching her with focused intent, though it sent carnal shimmers of heat through her nerve endings, making her shift; if anything he seemed to be idly drawing patterns, smooth abstract or arcane shapes.

"Of course I am," she said--again matter-of-factly, still smiling. It flowed up from somewhere deep inside her, luminous and true, breaking over her face like sunshine. She traced the subtle mark of scars over his skin, here and there; her hair fell over her face, tangled, and she tucked her feet beneath her, half sitting up. "It's the best of--"

They both went stiff a mere moment before there was a long rippling howl from outside, agonized and full of rage. Doris actually vaulted over him without thinking; Hunters could dress in mere moments, even seconds, and they were both out of her room and moving toward the door in a heartbeat. She raised the gun as she burst through the door, and this time the disturbance in air was thick, roiling, and here and there she caught a glimpse of sallow unhealthy gray, patched with dark brown fur.

"There's something wrong with it," she said, clipped and urgent. "More than what we did."

D, beside her, nodded once. "Check on the Doctor," he said, and she cast him a sharp glance, ran for the back of the house. Dan was already there with his laser rifle, but D wouldn't have asked if there wasn't--

There. "Son of a bitch," she spat, and the whip snapped with vicious accuracy. The smaller creatures scattered from the bed, the Doctor jolting upright with a yell. Dan cursed viciously and took aim, killing one, two. Doris leapt, landing on the bed above the Doctor; she killed two with the gun and the whip snatched the last right off the floor and dashed its brains out against the wall.

"Fucker," Dan said in disgust. "Man! That's cheatin'."

She gave him an exasperated look, jumping lightly down. "How long have you been livin' out here?" She asked, and before he could do more than roll his eyes she vanished down the hall again, pushing the front door open in seconds and squinting into the early morning sunshine.

D was kneeling over the corpse, and she nodded and holstered her gun, matter-of-fact. She approached him with a light step, running an assessing eye over the thing. The concealment was bleeding away, revealing the knotted, poisonous patches of decayed gray amidst healthy thick dark fur. "Damn," she breathed.

"He was poisoned," D said, and stood. His face turned off away from the orchard, and she followed his line of sight. Nothing became immediately apparent to her human eyes, but that light whisper of foreboding strengthened, a trickle turning to a stream and then a brook.

"Something out there," she murmured. "Goddamn. I knew it couldn't just be yours." She put a boot beneath the creature's shoulder and rolled him to study the twisted, tormented face. "Poor bastard," she said simply. She would've killed it in a heartbeat for attacking her home, but hell. One had to have some standards. Nobody and nothing deserved this creeping sickness.

She realized D was looking at her, studying her face in the morning light. “What?” She asked, puzzled, lifting a hand to shield her eyes.

For a second he was just silent. His eyes moved to the corpse, then to her. After a moment, voice soft, he replied, “just thinking.”

Doris studied him for a moment, taking in his stance and the darkness of his eyes. She pursed her lips and nodded. “All right. I’m gonna head inside. Whatever did that—you think it’s still around?”

He turned back toward the road, his mouth shifting, eyes narrowing against the strengthening sun. “No,” he replied after an assessing moment. “I don’t believe so.”

When she reached the front door and pushed it open, she saw Dan and the Doctor just coming toward her. Dan halted, his face brightening when he saw her. "Got it?" He asked, and she pushed the door open to let them see the corpse.

The Doctor's face flashed with conflicting emotions. "Then I'm safe," he said, weary relief showing in his voice so plainly it was a wonder he didn't collapse under the weight of it. He muttered something that might have been a fragment of a prayer, then pulled himself together with visible effort, straightening. "And we need trouble you no longer."

Doris's heart plummeted to about her knees, and Dan's face fell.

"Oh," she said, voice faltering--but only slightly, and like the Doctor before her she composed herself with effort. "Of course. We'll--prepare for your journey."

"There's no need--"

"At least a meal," she said, cutting him off. "I wouldn't want to send you off without breakfast." She glanced at Dan. "Do you want to make the rounds while I cook? Or I could--"

"Nah." He stretched, grinning. "I've got the rifle with me already. And besides--" He waggled his eyebrows in that affectionately obnoxious way that only little brothers seemed able to accomplish, glancing out the door at D. He was giving her more time with him. Touched and exasperated all at once, Doris ruffled his hair and headed for the kitchen.

"If I could wash up--" The physician began.

"No problem," she said, matter-of-fact. "You know where the shower is. You can use some spare clothes of our Dad's." At one point it would have pained her beyond belief to say the words, but the wound was healed now, and Doris knew when to let go. She cracked the window in the kitchen, letting clear fresh air wash in, drawing it deep into her lungs as she laid her whip on the table. Then she reached for the icebox that contained the mutant eggs.

"It's not necessary," D said from the doorway.

Doris turned to look at him, surprised. Finally she said, "no, but it's early, and I'll be making breakfast anyway, and it wouldn't feel right, sending you off so--" Words failed her for a moment. "Fast," she said finally. "Or cold, maybe."

Quiet, he said her name.

She left the eggs alone and approached him, leaning against the table. "I know you," she said. "I know your nature, and I didn't go into this havin' a bunch of expectations that you were gonna, what, make an honest woman out of me?" She grinned, amusement tempered by sadness. "I'm sure sad that you're going, yeah. But I'm not gonna ask something of you that you can't give, not and be who you are, and your leaving ain't gonna destroy me. I'm happy with what I've had." She brushed at her eyes, suddenly frustrated when her fingers caught dampness.

And suddenly he was holding her.

She held on just as fiercely, burying her face in his shoulder, arms wrapped around his body. Her fingers curled into the material of his shirt, feeling the dormant warmth of his skin, their bodies aligned and pressed together. His fingers wound through the thick black waterfall of her hair, pressed to the back of her neck. His arms held her with a hard and unyielding strength. She knew this body in ways she'd never imagined, now, and she would miss it and bitterly, this glimpse.

"But D--" Her voice was muffled by his coat, so she pulled back enough to clear it; his arms loosened slightly but she remained where she was and they settled again around her. "Don't forget me, okay?"

His head bent to hers. Doris smelled the scent of his skin, dark and clear like a moonless night, and his hand relaxed against her spine, almost caressing. "No," he promised, and she smiled.

"Good," she said. "Now, I have to cook." Despite her words, she didn't loosen her own grip on him, reluctant to relinquish the contact, this moment in the cool morning air with his coat falling around them and their bodies pressed together. But after a moment, reluctantly, she let her arms slip away.

And in a moment, that space was established between them. She let out her breath in a shuddering sigh and rubbed her hands over her shirt. And then, very abruptly, she realized she wasn't wearing pants. She’d just grabbed her shirt and underwear—what had been on the floor in easy reach—and an armful of weapons.

"Aw, hell," she said, surprised, and gave him a sharp look. "You didn't tell me!"

Humour lurked in his expression. All he said was, "I don't mind."

It startled a burst of laughter out of her, and she pushed past him as she headed for her bedroom. For a morning that had D leaving them—again—it felt unexpectedly good.

Doris kissed him goodbye.

Not on the very moment of their departure, of course. At that point she simply lent them two cyborg horses and directions to the closest town and someone to leave the horses with when they purchased their own. "Take care," she advised, checking over their mounts one last time. "The road's shit for a good span right before you hit the town, there was an accident recently and they haven't gotten around to giving it real work." She stepped back, looking over her work with a critical eye, and then gave a satisfied nod. "All right. Good to go."

The Doctor politely thanked them, but with a sense of his fate clearly in his grasp again, he was regaining all his airs, and there was a certain loftiness to his tone that made Dan snort with amusement—which wasn't by any means the best dignity-salving gesture to make.

D swung up on his horse without a word to his employer, then looked down at them. "Take care," he said, and Dan threw off a sloppy salute, his face losing a little of its brightness.

She touched the reins of his horse, lightly. "Godspeed."

He bowed to her, deep and courtly, from horseback. As a startled flush raced to her cheeks, they set off at a quick pace and she was left staring after them, her eyebrows raised.

So no--in front of the very proper Doctor, Doris didn't say a proper goodbye. But before they stepped outside of the door, she caught his coat in one hand and tugged, reeling him back to her; his grip settled around her arms and he turned them, quick and graceful. Suddenly she was pressed against the wall, and the kiss was fiercely hungry, devouring, and she arched onto her toes and pressed hard against his body, his fingers dropping to her hips and sliding under her shirt, smooth over the bared skin of her back.

It hadn't felt like a goodbye. But she supposed that it was hardly surprising, since in that moment she hadn't been feeling very at peace with the separation.

Later that day, she rode out in the direction of the Jamesons'.

Not to their actual house. She didn't make that trip all that often, being that it took a whole day at a good steady pace. But to the outpost roughly halfway between for news and to talk to some acquaintances.

The dust permeated her hair and skin, and she slapped her traveling hat against her leg when she stepped inside, feeling coated with a chalky film. The cool dimness of the interior was welcome, and people looked up, several of them lifting a friendly hand. The broad front room of the general store was more a place for social gatherings than anything else. She browsed idly, without much need, picking out some oil and several packages of spices while she waited for the clerk to be free.

"Miss Lang."

The voice was familiar; she turned sharply and found herself face to face with Freddie, frowning faintly as he took her in from head to toe with a searching glance. "I see you're all right," he observed.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Doris asked, placing the tin she had been examining back on the shelf. She had an inkling of where this was going, and she didn't like it. Her mouth pulled into a hard line.

He hesitated, then without answering her question directly asked, "and your guests?"

"They're fine," she said. "They left this morning." Yes, she knew where this was going. She'd heard it before and she had not even remotely developed more patience with the attitude with time.

"Good," he said flatly. "Miss Lang, maybe you don't know--"

"I hired the man," she said, tone chilly. "He worked for me. He saved my life. I know exactly what he is." Her tone didn't invite further exploration of the topic, and this time she didn't make any overtures to soften it. She folded her arms instead, tucking her packages under one.

Freddie lapsed into silence. Surprise crossed his face, then a hint of anger, a flash of seething resentment. "You know he's a half-breed," he said, and the loathing in his voice was unmistakable. Evidently he'd learned some things since he'd last seen them.

"Well aware," she returned coolly.

He clearly didn't know what to make of her now--but whatever he was going to make of her, it wasn't going to be pleasant. She didn't need to read minds to see that. "I thought you were--"

"What I am is no business of yours, and I don't really care what you thought or think of me," she flung back curtly. "Kindly step aside."

He moved in front of her instead when she tried to go around, expression frustrated and fervent. "You know they're no better than the goddamned Nobility," he asserted, his voice harsh and low. At least he wasn't shouting it to the whole store, though it was obvious that no matter how innocuous the stances of the bystanders, everyone was paying attention. Doris was well known in town, and he was not. Not that she needed any help, but they'd step in if it came to that; certain impulses came to the fore where it concerned young women a full head shorter than their opponents. "No decent woman--"

"Then maybe I'm not a decent woman," she said too softly. "You ever think of that? Now get out of my goddamn way."

He wasn't getting the point. "I've never heard anyone talk this kind of bullshit," he growled. "Not unless--hell, is that it? Has he brainwashed you or--"

His hand darted out for her collar and Doris had officially. Had. Enough.

It took less than a second. She caught his wrist in a fast, vicious grip, her fingers clamping down, and she yanked and twisted, her knee smashing into his solar plexus along the way and his body flying into the metal shelf behind her. It tumbled to the ground in a riot of sound and scattering packages.

She stalked to the counter and tossed down what she had. "I'll pay for that," she assured the clerk, who was not quite hiding his smirk, with a jerk of her head towards the fallen man.

"No problem," the clerk said cheerfully, waving a hand to indicate it was fine. Freddie, rising from the mess with his nose streaming blood, took in the mood of the store. It was very clearly against him. Face red with more than the discharge from his broken nose, he stumbled toward the door, and in a heartbeat the clerk's tone changed. "Oi! Get back and help clean up your mess!"

Doris gathered up her packages after paying and strode out of the store, her mood--and probably her expression--thunderous. God knew it would only take a few whispered remarks in order to start the damaging rumours up all over again. Another mob was unlikely to turn up, since there was nothing but the malicious remarks of a man whose ego she'd damaged, but there was always that chance, even if they wouldn't find anything,and she didn't want to deal with it all over again. Doris greeted several people who called out politely while she packed away her belongings in the saddlebags, stewing over the potential predicament.

She'd been planning on making the rounds, stopping at the saloon to say hi and pick up the news, but her mood was spoiled. She didn't want to have to deal with it now, and home was a seductive prospect; abruptly she felt tired, worn out by the roller coaster ride of the last few days' emotions.

She swung up into the saddle, mood dark, and turned her horse toward home.

At home, Dan was waiting at the door. "Pick up anything interesting?" He asked, and then caught sight of her face, frowning. "Hey, what's wrong? What happened?"

She swung down from her horse and took the reins, gently guiding it towards the stables. "One of the Jameson's boarders tried to make some trouble. Nothing too serious." It wasn't being perfectly honest--she'd couldn't truthfully say that it was entirely 'nothing serious' for her, considering how badly it had disturbed her--but she didn't want to trouble Dan, and he worried about her.

He studied her for a moment, trotting beside her. "Then you should tell them," he declared. "I bet they'd throw him out in a heartbeat if they knew he was buggin' you, sis."

"It's alright. It wasn't too serious." And Frontier folk could hardly be blamed for loathing the Nobility and all those connected to them. Just because Doris didn't agree didn't mean she didn't sympathize. After all, she herself had suffered the Kiss of the Nobility, that noxious brand and haunting fear. And as things were at the moment, she wasn't upset enough to try to ruin his chances in this town after what he had already through.

"I'll fix us some chow," Dan said, accepting her word as she got the cyborg horse settled. "You gonna go out?"

"Yep." Without elaborating, she let him know that D's arrival and departure hadn't changed what had been troubling her. It had solidified the issue--the memory of the gray decay usurping the creature's body made her skin crawl--but introduced no real resolution.

He gave her a quick fierce hug, accepted the loaded saddle bag, and turned to run back to the house.

Doris secured her coat and doffed her hat, checking her whip and gun and then setting out without a word to patrol the edges of the electromagnetic fence. Dusk was creeping closer, the sky darkening subtly; she'd spent more time than she'd thought at the outpost. Added to her leisurely enjoyment of the ride there and her preoccupied stewing on the ride back, it made for more time than she'd anticipated gone. Doris didn't mind; the dark brought out the monsters, and if there was an attack she'd prefer it happen when she was prepared for it, even looking for it, than when she was at home and maybe asleep.

The ambient noise was making its gradual shift, the diurnal birds and other fauna settling in for the night's rest, the sound of distant movement, automobiles far off, receding. The curious quality of the night, that soft twilight ambiance and the soft movements of the nocturnal animals, natural and unnatural both. Doris still knew better than to be outside much at full night, but she had a greater appreciation for its beauty as well as its danger.

The shadows of the trees fell over her, the muted breath of wind sliding cool hands over her face and shoulders. She picked her way carefully through the orchard, winding between the trees. She tipped her head up to a particularly laden branch and reached up to touch a heavy fruit.

The wind blew a particularly fierce gust between branches, and it was all that saved her.

She didn't even think, body taking over like a well-trained and smooth-oiled machine, carrying her in a huge, acrobatic leap back into a tree. Mouth dropping in mute horror she watched as the gray sickness swallowed up the fruit, moving with frightening speed to consume the branch they were attached to and speeding toward the trunk. The gray dust they turned to did nothing visible to the grass, and in a heartbeat she acted, firing at a point ahead of the rushing decay. The branch snapped off and fell to the ground, already gray--mold? ash? the smell was old and dry like a corpse long gone to mere ashes rather than decay--and scattering over the ground.

Doris moved again, leaping to the ground, on her feet in a heartbeat and whirling. The whip lashed out again, but all it did was strike leaves free from their branches. Whatever movement she had sensed was gone too quick for her to catch, escaping her lightning-fast reaction like poison flooding through lungs, without discernible effort.

Dismay swallowed up her throat. She had to get it out of the orchard. If the battle continued, either the monster or her own attacks could destroy their trees. She broke into a sprint, slipping between trees, and at the edge of her peripheral senses, the thing kept pace easily. Maybe it was playing with her; though the thought made hot anger and a bolt of fear lurch into her throat, she was grateful for it if it meant it was going to stay its hand to build the anticipation or simply prolong its enjoyment.

She veered and broke out onto the grass that led to the road--she wasn't leading it straight to the house and Dan, no way in hell. Having hung around here for so long, it was probably targeting them as monsters sometimes did, but she wouldn't let Dan get involved and endangered. She would deal with it here and now, even if it killed her to bring it down with her.

Doris swallowed even the idea that she might not succeed, focusing every she had on the determination to fight. The whip returned to her hip, coiled; she didn't want to give it any chance to pull that trick that had chased death back to the tree's trunk. No, she'd be depending on her gun and her spear, and she'd have to sacrifice her spear if she saw a good enough shot.

There. The damn thing wasn't invisible—she didn't, on examination, think it was even a matter of it being too fast for her eye to catch. It was some kind of trick, the air distorting gelid around it; much like that of the thing D had killed in her front yard. Did it get something from its kills, was that it?

That brought an unexpected acid twist of humour. What had it gained from the tree and its fruit, then?

She leapt, up and hard, somersaulting in midair and firing at the same time. It kicked up her arm, a hot jolt in her shoulder and she dropped, her body coiling like a spring, knee-foot-palm slapping the earth, taking her weight as she rolled and came up in a viper-swift crouch, gun smoothly tracking the sense of motion she felt in the air.

Had she hurt it? She thought she'd felt a ripple, not quite audible to human ears, a disturbance of air that couldn't merely be attributed to its motion. Doris was loath to consider the risky tricks she'd pulled with the monster in the clearing or the witch's beast years ago. In this case, it wasn't a matter of risking suffering a blow she might recover from; there was every indication even the lightest of scrapes with this thing would leave her nothing but ash in the wind in moments.

The recoil was too strong. This gun needed to be replaced, it should be free of that kind of jar. The near-idle thought slid across her mind as it settled into glacial calm, the copper-hot smoothness of adrenaline on her tongue. Every sense was alive with tension, preparation.

“Come and get me,” she murmured.

Something scored the ground beside her, sharp and immediate, and she was already reeling away, gun out, her spear freed from its place against her thigh. She didn't think she was going to survive this--and surviving it period wasn't a given either--without losing it, and she spared a brief moment of regret. It was a good weapon.

She licked her lips, tightened her grip around the spear and let her eyes go gently unfocused. The peripheral was best for catching motion.

There. The speed shocked her, though she was already moving. It had been playing with her--figured that the nobility would instill their prideful cruelty in their creations--and now it was closing in for the kill. She came down off balance, fighting to keep her feet under her, body dropping low to center herself, and then it was coming up from the ground, too close and too fast, and she was going to have to sacrifice the spear with an uncertain target and pray it bought her enough time--and didn't move fast enough to hit her fingers.

Two things happened at once. A flash of black, sweeping in sharp and sudden from the corner of her eyes, her stomach lurching with sudden displacement as she went flying backwards. The gun came up and fired, twice, marking the ground once, the other impact not showing, steaming liquid pattering the ground briefly. The thing's kind of blood, maybe.

She looked up into D's face, regaining her balance, his hand on her arm holding her steady. His bottomless eyes met hers, and for a moment a pure thread of communication spun out between them, silent and intense.

"Above," she said, and they both moved.

A gleaming flash bisected the air, and this time the cry was audible. The ground was slapped with frantic streaks of gray in all directions, marking grass and twigs but not the earth or stone. It was writhing frantically, but D's long curved sword did not move, and gleamed impenetrably against the solidifying monster.

Doris was already coming down, the image taken in at a second's glance. Its face emerged, tilted up to her, corpselike and withered with a rictus jaw gaping open in mute, animal protest. The spear plunged into its forehead, nailing it to the ground, and it gave one last convulsive spasm, leaving no marks behind this time, and went limp. She released the spear, but the wave of gray discoloration only swept about halfway up, leaving half of the handle to clatter to the ground.

Breathing hard, she stepped back with her gun clenched in bloodless fingers. She drew in a deep breath of air, a sudden giddy rush of glad-to-be-alive hitting her hard, the tang of dust and decay in the air fading to the evening's sharp sweetness. Then she turned to him, a question in her throat, on her lips--filling her eyes, she was sure.

"D?"

He looked back, studying her from head to toe. His nostrils flared, breathing her in; she knew he didn't smell any blood, and that seemed to satisfy his first quick evaluation.

Tentatively, rather than voicing any number of questions of exclamations that clamoured at her lips, she said, "where is the Doctor?"

"On his way."

She stared at him like he'd suddenly sprouted an extra drooling red-eyed head. "You saw him to the town and then...sent him off? Just like that?"

"Evidently."

Doris was largely unbothered by D's characteristically laconic replies, but the rioting confusion and reeling unsettlement left her groping for a more solid explanation to the extremely unorthodox event. Lacking the proper questions, for the moment she simply asked, "and the cyborg horses?"

"I programmed them for home."

Clearly he'd somehow detected their fight. Doris slid the gun home in its holster and propped her hands on her hips, drawing in a deep and slightly unsteady breath. She let it out again, breathing, letting it sink in--the setting sun, the corpse on the ground, the calm way he stood there with the night encroaching around him, his familiar reticence.

"You came back," she said quietly. For me.

For a second she thought he'd say evidently again, and a sudden laugh bubbled up. It would characteristic of D, if utterly unromantic. Instead, his low voice even and quiet but full of meaning, he agreed, "I came back for you."

She crossed the ground to him in two long strides and wrapped her arms around him. The embrace wasn't even truly sensual, though the length of his body pressed against hers made warmth rush through her like ripples in water, body coming alive. It was an affirmation, and a hard tight hug that just said, I'm glad. He might not stay. Who he was probably wouldn’t let him. But she knew that if even if he didn’t—she’d see him again. One way or another, he would not simply vanish into the mists like a strange dream.

His arms came up around her, fingers threading through her hair, hand slowly gently cupping the back of her head. She could think of any number of things to say--thank you, or Dan will be thrilled or just, D, but she didn't feel the need. The silence was filled with any number of her words and their myriad of meanings and emotions, and she knew he heard them all.

He bent his head, graceful, and kissed her throat where the pulse beat steadily and her flesh was still purpled by the mark of his mouth—home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a short, smutty follow up [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29517978/chapters/72525345).


End file.
